


Life is Written by Hand

by Ostrava



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Blood, Depression, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sad with a Happy Ending, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2020-06-28 02:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19802707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ostrava/pseuds/Ostrava
Summary: Hanzo was hopeful that when he was to open his eyes once more, this dream that had turned into a nightmare, would come to an end, at long last. This was an end to something that never had a beginning, and that made him feel a sadness that was lodged deep within his dreary and tired heart.Hanzo undergoes the surgery to remove the flowers in his lungs, which will cause him to forget all about McCree. Unfortunately for him, fate had other plans. Such as making him fall in love with the same person, twice.





	1. Words Never Said

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this last year and well, decided just to post it here. The Hanahaki disease premise has always fascinated me, there are so many ways for it to be written. I have read so many variations and loved every single one of them.
> 
> Apologies for any misspellings you may find, I haven't slept since yesterday (It's almost 7 AM here)
> 
> One of the songs that I had playing in a loop while writing this can be found [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vfj-peP6a7o)
> 
> I hope you like the chapter!

The end of anything is inevitable, yet, an end to something that never came to be, something that never came to fruition, is sadder still. There is melancholy attached to such, for something that ended without a beginning is filled with ' _what if's'_ and ' _perhaps it will happen again'_ when in reality, what is done is done and there is no turning back. One cannot reverse the flow of a river nor the passing of time, and neither can anyone make an event occur again to see if there would be a different outcome.

The archer was quite aware of those facts, he faced all of those possibilities each day. Sometimes hoping, sometimes lost and defeated, his own mind and its conjectures were Hanzo's most bitter enemy after all.

Sitting by Jesse's side almost every day, was both bitter and sweet.

Hanzo's heart was as always lingering between sorrow and bliss as he stared at the coastal panorama in silent appreciation of its colors. Yet, as usual, one of his hands was turned into a fist, his nails were forming half-moon shaped bruises to the inside of his calloused palms as he bit the inside of his cheek to avoid coughing. Jesse, who was oblivious to the archer's predicament, went on with his tale as Hanzo struggled to keep himself together.

Hanzo often considered that he could accept the facts and reality of it and move on, or dwell on it and be consumed by possibilities that will never become reality.

He had accepted his feelings, he was afraid to act up on them if he was to be asked. Because he knew he would be rejected by the object of his affections, he was just being realistic and accepting the truth beforehand. He was coughing up flower petals for a reason, he was aware that any attempt would be futile, and Hanzo was more than aware that the flowers were growing within his lungs for an obvious reason; his unrequited love.

A curse that grew in the shape of a flower, a sad reminder of the fact that one's feelings were unwanted.

In a sense, the archer was somewhat happy. At least he got to spend time with McCree, even if it was just as friends.

He knew his love was not reciprocated, and all he had with Jesse was a steady friendship.

He had no hope of that ever changing. At the very least he could say that before he was to remove the flowers from his lungs along with the memory of ever having loved Jesse he had a good friend in the cowboy, he hoped for that to at least never change.

He was going to lose all sense of friendship, attachment and familiarity he held towards Jesse. Those instances in which he had felt something more than despair would be gone. He had for once in his life felt _hope_ flourishing within his heart. The archer had had a reason to wake up smiling in the morning, or at least he did for a short while. Even if it would soon become nothing, he had it but for a short few moments. He knew that all he felt was fleeting and having his affections returned was almost impossible, just as snow in summer is.

Leniency would be his damnation, for he had prolonged this for way too long, he needed to have the flowers removed and soon, for there was no sense on continuing that charade. Besides he did not want to be perceived as weak if things got even worse and he was to become a hindrance for the team. He was determined to enjoy one last evening knowing that his feelings for Jesse albeit unrequited, at least were genuine and real enough that they were taking him towards an early grave.

Love was killing him, and that was something he never expected to happen, but it did.

Washing away the bitter taste of the flowers with sakè, and hoping that inebriation would take away the sensation of the petals coming up his throat, Hanzo stood there hands clenched over the sink while he stared at his reflection upon the mirror.

“Coward.” He hissed before slamming his fist against the reflective surface. The shards of the broken mirror fell towards the floor at the same time that the archer's blood began to drip onto the tiles as well, “Coward!” He yelled at the broken and distorted reflection of his tired face.

Hanzo sat on the floor in silence, the throbbing pain in his knuckles was but a distant and minor inconvenience in the face of the truth. Those feelings were proof that he indeed had a heart. Still, they were unrequited and thus unnecessary, getting rid of them after months of useless pining was the logical thing to do.

It was that, or dying slowly by asphyxiation.

Hanzo stood up and stared at contents in the sink with slight apprehension. In there, alongside with the shards of the mirror, there were the yellow semi-elongated flower petals that he had coughed up. They swirled around the surface of the bathroom sink after he opened the faucet. The white ceramic made the bright yellow of the blossoms stand out even more. His own broken reflection in the mirror, a pale imitation of his former self, even as he tried to hide it underneath a wall of cold stoicism that would deter anyone from asking him what was wrong in the first place, it was obvious that there was something affecting him.

He had learned from an early age that keeping people at an arm's length could be something useful, that in the end it could isolate him but also would keep him alive by avoiding sharing information and developing relationships that could end up becoming weak points for him, anything that could be used against him by his enemies he avoided. He was lonely, but also he was safe. Or so he repeated to himself over and over in nights where he had no one else to talk to but the Dragons.

The Desert Sunflowers had been his secret for a couple of months, and given that such a long time had passed, the archer could tell that his time was running short. The elder Shimada's breathing was becoming difficult and the coughing episodes lasted longer and became harder to overcome. He had to make a choice.

He could tell Jesse and either risk being ridiculed because of it, even though Hanzo was more than sure that his friend would never make fun of a delicate subject such as the Hanahaki disease. Because that was all there was between the archer and McCree, friendship and nothing more, that was why Hanzo dared not to board on the subject or even mentioned anything related to it whenever they had a conversation to see if the cowboy harbored similar feelings for him.

He feared the answer to the question, even when he had never truly voiced out. He knew that the answer would be: _'You are a friend to me, and nothing more.'_

And that would hurt more than being laughed at.

So, the archer deemed it wise to keep silent. Although, he could always tell Jesse about his feelings, be rejected, and have the perfect excuse to dispose of the flowers that threatened to kill him just because his affections were not reciprocated. Truth to be told, he was more than sure that the latter was most likely to happen.

Hanzo thought about it, specially in the sleepless nights that more often than not, plagued him. He could get the _'illness'_ treated, ask to be given certain amount of medical leave time away from the Overwatch headquarters in order to recuperate in peace, and return as if nothing had ever happened.

Only thing was that by taking away the flowers that were growing within his lungs, the feelings toward the person that made them bloom as well as the memories would disappear. Hanzo had been considering that factor for weeks. It was but a small flaw in his plans.

Getting the flowers extracted and his memories of McCree would be all gone along with them. It was either forgetting the cowboy, or to die by asphyxiation due to his unrequited feelings. The memory goes away to avoid becoming attached and falling back in love with the person that caused the flowers to bloom in the first place, that was how it worked, and that was the price everyone had to pay if they wanted to dispose of the flowers.

For the longest time, the archer saw his current situation as if it was a labyrinth with no discernible exit.

But his mind had been made, Hanzo planned to go to Japan to have the flowers removed. In fact he had everything almost ready, except for one of the final touches.

That was why, in order to have some semblance of normalcy upon his return, he had decided to fill up a journal. Which would help the archer to pretend that things are fine and he didn't forget about his friend since his feelings were unrequited but his friendship wasn't.

“The love is unwanted, but the friendship is not.” He said as he reached for his bed and sat on one of the corners. The leather bound journal was something he had purchased years ago on a whim, and never had any use for it until he wrote on it for the first time about three weeks ago. Hanzo was choosing what would fade away and what should stay in his mind and heart safeguarded by the words written in those pages.

He was not doing any of this because he felt hatred, for it was quite the contrary after all, he loved so much that his own love was killing him slowly, if left to its own devices his unrequited feelings would end up filling his lungs with flowers, until he could breathe no more.

More than once the archer pondered over it, if the risk of telling McCree the truth was worth it. There was that small part of him, the one filled with faith and optimism; the small piece of his heart that was yet to be crushed by reality, that hoped against everything that Jesse would return his feelings by some miracle.

But he knew it would not be, there were petals coming out of his mouth for a reason after all.

Hanzo was always one step away from from the cowboy's lips, but was always unable to lay a kiss upon them, a few meters away from Jesse's sun kissed skin and unable to reach for it and feel its warmth. The archer cursed his luck and stars for he could not attain his heart's desire and maybe would end up driving Jesse away if he was to say anything about it.

Sometimes, it felt as if he had a wound that was unable to heal.

The archer could act and lose McCree's friendship or remain silent and die for it... but here was the last option, he would lose Jesse but at least he would survive and forget.

Once, he had wanted to be Jesse's reason to always return home, to hold hands, but he knew it was an impossible dream. How their friendship started. He had not been looking for it nor planned it. It just happened, at first he was unaware that his feelings towards the cowboy had changed until it got worse. It happened gradually day by day, as he woke up with renewed fear, for the flowers appeared shortly after he had realized what his feelings truly meant.

The choice was simple, for he just knew his affections were unrequited, the Hanahaki was proof enough of that. He had to choose, either die of asphyxiation due to his one sided feelings because his heart refuses to listen, and it refuses to accept the fact that his love is not returned. He will have to dispose of the flowers, forget, and go on as if nothing had happened.

Sometimes, the archer just sat down to ponder, but his mind would always end up in the same loop. He didn't want to let go but the decision had been made. At some moments, Hanzo felt as if he was a plant forgotten by the sun; always reaching for its light and warmth but remaining in the shadows, waiting for a slow and lonely death.

The night before he was to leave for Japan, the team had been told that Hanzo would be undergoing a covet mission in order to spy on a Talon branch in Hanamura. The archer then stayed behind after the room had been emptied and only Winston and Morison remained.

And Jack just _knew,_ one look at Hanzo and he was aware of the doubts that plagued the archer. “Are you sure this is what you want?” The soldier asked, his gruff voice filled the room, “There is no going back after it.”

Hanzo eyed the older man, “Do you speak from experience, perhaps?” he inquired.

“Not exactly, but I've seen this happen one too many times,” Morrison told the elder Shimada, “these plans usually backfire.” after that, the soldier stood up and simply wished Hanzo good luck.

* * *

A few minutes before the clock struck midnight, the archer was standing over one of the many catwalks that could be found around the base. McCree was there was well, the smoke from his cigar taken away by the ocean breeze.

“I thought you were sleeping.” Jesse glanced at the archer, then pointed at the bandage wrapped around Hanzo's left hand, “What happened?” he asked as he stared pointedly at the elder Shimada who shrugged in response.

“I am not sleepy just yet.” the archer said, “And this is nothing.” he added as he took a seat by Jesse's side, careful not to knock down the bottle of bourbon resting now in the space between them.

After that, they just talked under the dark expanse of the starry sky. Jesse's laugh was something that made Hanzo's heart beat faster and somehow, knowing he was going to lose such a precious memory made regret stir within his chest. But it was for the best. The flowers needed to go. He could not go on living like this, for right on that moment there were petals logged in his throat as he was once more resisting the urge to cough.

The archer stood up and McCree followed suit, and in a moment of perhaps utter madness, or maybe wanting some relief, Hanzo wrapped his arms around Jesse.

Everything was quiet as the archer closed his eyes, he was trying to commit the embrace to memory, fully knowing that it would be in vain. His mind was screaming the words he would never be able to tell the cowboy.

_'I love you.'_

_'I will miss you.'_

_'I wish I could tell you.'_

The archer's mind went on until he felt that Jesse returned the embrace with a short laugh afterwards. “This feels as if you're saying goodbye.” the cowboy's voice was but a whisper, “As if you weren't coming back.”

“No, this is not goodbye. At least not for long.” Hanzo tried to make his speech sound slurry, then pretended he had been a little drunk to avoid Jesse from becoming suspicious, “Farewell at best, but never goodbye. I will be returning sooner than you expect.”

_'But everything will be different between us.'_ those words were left unsaid as well.

Without nothing else to say, the archer turned around and began to walk away. “Good night.” he said, as he stopped one last time. “I will see you soon.”

“I'll hold you to that promise, partner.” the cowboy lifted his glass of bourbon and then drank the whole contents within it.

Still, Jesse could not shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen. His eyes set upon the retreating form of the archer and worry worming itself into his heart.

* * *

Hanzo shuddered as the anesthetic began to fill his veins with a cold and numbing sensation. He blinked several times as oblivion began to claim him. Hopeful that when he was to open his eyes once more, this dream that had turned into a nightmare, would come to an end at long last. This was an end to something that never had a beginning, and that made him feel a sadness that was lodged deep within his dreary and tired heart.

Even if he was not ready to let go, it was too late and he will have to live with the consequences, knowing that upon his awakening everything would be different. The memories linked to Jesse, all of them, were about to shattered and would just fade away into nothingness. ' _I know that I am not ready to let you go, but I have to.'_ he said within his mind as he felt his eyes becoming heavy, _'This is how it must be.'_ Darkness overcame the archer, and he felt himself falling into oblivion.

One of his fondest memories was that of McCree's laughter. It was a melodious and deep sort of laugh that made the eyes of the cowboy appear brighter as well. He focused on the sound and visualized Jesse laughing, sitting by his side on one of the catwalks.

Hanzo closed his eyes and smiled, the cowboy's laughter was the last sound he heard before falling asleep, knowing that upon awakening everything would be different, yet, still the same.


	2. Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you for all the kudos and to those of you who left comments. I was not really expecting this much of a positive reception and I thank you for that.
> 
> The song that was playing constantly while I was writing this chapter was: **Here Comes The Rain Again by Hypnogaja.** (Give it a listen if you get the chance.)
> 
> And with that, I hope you like this chapter.

* * *

After Hanzo had taken his leave, McCree took a seat over the cold catwalk once more, the embrace he and the archer had shared had set his skin on fire. A soft burn was all over where their bodies had come in contact.

The gunslinger had the feeling of having lost a chance, _of what?_ He could not really say. His mind was filled with turmoil and his body seemed tense with trepidation as he reached for his glass of bourbon once more, hoping that the alcohol would help him forget the feeling of dread that threatened to drown him.

In the distance and spreading all over the horizon, heavy clouds gathered with the promise of a downpour that was soon to come. The wind was already picking up and the temperature was dropping. McCree wrapped his serape tighter around his upper body in a swift move. “Ain't moving from here till I'm done with this bottle.” The cowboy's eyes were then set upon the dark sky, the glimmer of stars had been almost completely swallowed by the dark clouds. He sighed loudly lightning a cigar then, Jesse was more than aware that he should retire to his chambers but he just knew that sleep would not come unless he was able to drink himself into a stupor. His mind just kept bringing up one word, and that was _loss_.

“What am I gonna lose?” He asked as a puff of smoke that came out of his mouth drifted away, carried by the chill wind. “'S not as if I have much anyway.” the cowboy's voice took a tone filled with despondency, yet for him, it was true.

He had returned to his chambers in time for the rain to begin to fall. In silence, he placed both his stetson and serape over the wooden desk he had placed near one of the windows. His body felt numb and his eyes could not focus properly. The cowboy had removed his boots as swiftly as he was able and laid down on his bed, closed his eyes finding himself finally falling into a dreamless sleep, and for that he was grateful.

* * *

The dreary early morning found the cowboy walking around aimlessly. He had woken up long before the dawn, mouth dry and head pounding. Still, neither of those were enough to keep him in bed. He had become restless as the feeling of dread had once more invaded his mind, and as such he had wandered all over the watchpoint and ended up standing in front of the shooting range main doors.

McCree made his way inside to find himself face to face with the ex-commander Morrison, who seemed to have been there chasing away the shadows of a nightmare in the only way he could seem to find a sense of comfort. The rifle he held in his arms was a grounding weight that reminded him that his own reality was the one filled with monsters, his dreams were mere shadows of his past that could hurt him no more.

Yet, the absence of his visor and the haunted look on the soldier's visage were enough of a giveaway into his mindset. He was afraid and not willing to show it.

“Morning.” the cowboy greeted with forced cheer. He was exhausted that much was for certain, but the feeling of despair and loss within his mind, the fact that his heart felt heavy whenever his thoughts were aimed towards a certain archer. It all felt as if there were daggers being buried deep into his heart.

The ex-commander gave McCree a knowing look, he knew that the cowboy came to the shooting range to think and to isolate himself, just as he had done. The question, “What brings you here?” was more than unnecessary, still, Jack asked it out of politeness.

“Same thing as you, it seems.” Jesse gave the soldier a pointed look in return. “Nightmares.” he said plain and simple, for there was no reason for him to hide that fact.

“I see.” Morrison shrugged, “Then I'll leave you to it.”

As Jack began to walk away McCree reached for him, “Wait.” He called, “Are there any news from Hanzo?” he had let out the words without thinking. “I mean, agent Shimada.” He corrected right away. Still, he hoped they had sounded professional and distant, and not as if he was deeply worried about the archer. He needed to conceal that fact.

Morrison once more gave Jesse that look that meant he knew all along what the cowboy had wanted to ask, and what it was that was filling him with worry. “The last report was received upon his arrival to Japan, he has been in radio silence since then.”

Jesse nodded and said no more, he took Peacekeeper out of the holster and hoped the bad hunch he had had ever since he saw the archer before he departed, was nothing but a fluke.

“I don't like this.” McCree said as he chewed over one of the ends of a cigar. “Don't like this at all.”

* * *

Another day had passed, yet the entire base felt as if it was haunted by Hanzo's last goodbye. As if the version of Hanzo that would return won't be the same, and Jesse was scared.

He felt fear taking root within his heart, he was also filled with apprehension but had no knowledge of what it was causing it. The oppression in his chest and the nightmares would not leave him alone. He was imprisoned within his own head and there was no discernible exit from that maze.

Those felt as if they had been the longest days of Jesse's life.

A short mission in Russia had been nothing but a small distraction for him. The team flew in, stormed into Volskaya Industries and came out unscathed. Even in his own distracted mind he had used all the techniques he had attained during all those years as a soldier and it had served him well.

But his mind was unable to stray away from Hanzo.

The words: _'You are losing him.'_ Came into his mind over and over, a dreadful echo filled with sadness and longing went on, it played in repeat within his head, as if it was a broken record.

Upon the team's return to the base, Jesse found himself sitting on the same catwalk that faced the ocean. The sun was sinking in the horizon, spreading the last of its light as if it was a bonfire, and the ocean water was a bright reflection of it as well. As the cowboy took off his stetson, the salty breeze began to mess up his hair.

The loud noises caused by the waves as they were crashing not so far from where McCree was sitting, were a welcome distraction for a few moments. The cowboy opened a new bottle of bourbon and served himself a drink. But this time, he had two glasses instead of only one.

The empty glass was there, shining under the setting the sun as it if awaited Hanzo's return with as much eagerness as Jesse did.

Night fell, covering the entirety of the gunslinger's surroundings in darkness, as a few starts shone here and there but the moon was absent. Clouds covered most of the dark night sky making it difficult to be able to see the silver shine of the celestial bodies.

McCree lifted his glass towards the sky and made a toast, “To the finest archer I've ever met.” he declared, his voice trembled and for a moment he could almost swear that the archer was sitting by his side, when he opened his eyes the glass by his side was there, empty still, just as the space on his right was.

He smiled, drank his bourbon and stood up.

Upon reaching his room, the gunslinger took a quick shower and laid awake on his bed for most of the night. Yet, as the dawn approached, sleep finally caught up to him.

But as it was, it made McCree wish he had not fallen asleep at all.

His dreams had been filled with dread. In them, he had been standing in the middle of a field of desert sunflowers and hearing a voice calling his name. The voice itself was filled with sadness and despair, yet he could not recognize to whom it belonged for it was distorted.

The gunslinger ran across the bright coloured field looking for whoever it was that was calling for him to no avail.

There was no one to be found.

“Where are you?” the gunslinger yelled at the top of his lungs, and after running across the whole field of flowers once more, the beautiful yellow blossoms turned to ash that was carried by the wind in the blink of an eye. He tried to reach for some but it seeped through his fingers with the ease of water.

Nothing but darkness remained. The voice ceased its calling, and Jesse felt dread overcoming him anew.

He woke up with a start, the words _'You are losing him.'_ echoing within his mind once more. His lungs felt as if they were not getting enough air as he stumbled out of the bed and into the bathroom. McCree splashed cold water over his face and shook his head.

“What the hell is going on?” he hissed, but there was no one by his side that could provide him with an answer.

After that, and despite the early hour, Jesse found himself walking aimlessly through the base. Yet, the entire place seemed to be emptier somehow. It felt as if it was haunted with the remnants of the last conversation he had shared with Hanzo.

The echo of Hanzo's last goodbye haunted Jesse.

The archer's words dug into his heart and soul as if they were daggers, the embrace they had shared burned him still. Every place where they had been together was filled with the ghosts of things that had never come to fruition.

Jesse still felt as if he had lost something, and the same question remained, _what was it?_

There was an itch in the back of the cowboy's throat, but no amount of water nor liquor could get rid of it. He went on with his daily chores and ignored the rest, until night fell, and the nightmares returned.

Outside, the rain was pouring down, but in his dreams he was standing once more in the middle of a field filled with desert sunflowers, there was not a single cloud marring the cerulean sky. He searched with his eyes until he saw someone reaching for him. The person called his name, but when Jesse tried to reach for them, they faded away in a manner akin to that of a shadow in the presence of light.

Still, someone was calling for the gunslinger's name, over and over. It reminded Jesse of haunting poem told by a tortured soul.

A silhouette appeared in the distance, one hand reaching for Jesse's to no avail, for the cowboy was unable to get any closer, the flowers in the field disappeared completely in a cloud of ash that left nothing but darkness behind, and the person calling for him faded away as well.

_'You lost him.'_ a voice said. To whom it belonged? McCree could not say, all he could tell about it was that he found it unsettling.

McCree woke up gasping for air, with a hand reaching upwards in the darkness of his room. The voice calling for him a steady drum within his head that refused to stop. He huffed, feeling drained and quite shaken after the nightmare, taking a glance towards the clock placed over the small table near his bed, the early hour was displayed in bright red numbers. It was four in the morning. Jesse sighed loudly, for he knew that he would be unable to go back to sleep.

The whole day he had carried the sensation in his mind as if he had lost something important and didn't even realize how or when it happened. He felt a constant emptiness within his heart that nothing could fill, and an ache in his soul that nothing could soothe. The days that followed were stranger still, he yearned for _something_ but did not know what could it be.

It rained again and again, normal in that area for those days in the middle of autumn. But for the gunslinger, it all fell as if it was an omen. He had always been told he was too superstitious for his own good.

It was McCree's turn to make dinner that night, it was a quiet affair that with the downpour outside and most of the base empty since part of the personnel were on a mission. He departed to his room after he was done, as there would be no chance for him to visit neither the catwalks nor the cliff on the side of the island. In those silent moments, as he began pouring himself a drink, he liked to imagine Hanzo sitting by his side. The archer's laugh carried by the wind as they sat in amenable silence appreciating the sunset over a bottle of liquor and tales of the old days. Talking about their adventures, their hopes and dreams.

A small laugh escaped his lips and with that, the odd sensation in his throat returned. This time it was accompanied by the feeling of something being stuck in the back of his throat, causing him a slight irritation that he could not get rid of.

“Must've coming down with something.” He murmured to himself in the quietness of his room.

Propping up his feet onto the chair nearby, the cowboy brought the glass filled with liquor towards his lips. The warm sensation that spread over his chest as he drank was a welcome one, yet his thoughts were taking him far away. He was thinking of Hanzo. The archer's absence felt somehow deeper, as if Hanzo was not going to return.

He mulled over his memories and realized that there had been something off about the archer on the last day they had been together. As if Hanzo had wanted to tell something to Jesse, but dared not to. Hanzo was a private man and as such, no one truly knew what was he thinking or what his intentions were. He never spoke much unless prompted, or whenever it was needed while they underwent field missions.

And that was where things began to click within the cowboy's head. Because Hanzo, whether by fate's design or by mere coincidence, became friends with McCree. Not that the archer spoke a lot when they were together either, but Jesse enjoyed his company and his long silent moments in which they just sipped either sakè or bourbon together while watching the sunset. Or how they shared small chats while in missions. Funny quips passed between them in a way that did not require as many words, both men had developed a way to communicate even when they were quiet.

McCree was fond of Hanzo, more than he would ever admit.

The bothersome sensation in the back of his throat returned. It felt similar to a prickle, as if there was something he could not remove from his airways, he tried to clear it to no avail.

He finished his drink and laid on his bed, closed his eyes and drifted off.

That night, the nightmares had been relentless.

The field of desert sunflowers was gone, he blinked several times and tried to make sense of what he was seeing, for in the palm of his hand there was a single flower petal. It was blue, the same hue as that of a cloudless sky. Jesse closed his hand and opened his eyes and as he did so, he came to realize that he was on his bed, surrounded by the shadows of the night. Outside, the rain continued to fall, and Jesse had kept his hand still formed into a fist. The cowboy reached over for the lamp on the bedside table his hand trembling still, and as the light from it chased away the shadows, for a moment he feared opening his hand not wanting to see if what he had seen in his dream would become reality, but he did so anyway.

There was nothing.

McCree let out a huff, and looked out of the window. The downpour went on and by the time he had dressed himself, resigned to spend another sleepless night; he walked out of his room towards the kitchen, and in a move that surprised even his own self, he prepared some tea. He was reminded of Hanzo's advice, it had been given to him on one night similar to this one, when neither Hanzo nor Jesse had been able to fall asleep. They crossed paths in the kitchen, and the elder Shimada had offered McCree some tea.

* * *

“ _Tea always helps.” the archer had said, a gentle smile on his lips. As if a nice memory was tied to his words. “And when it does not, at least you drank some tea.”_

“ _I'll take your word for it.” The cowboy had retorted, a bright smile on his lips as he offered a nod in thanks._

_They sat side by side near a window, both men quiet and with their eyes set upon the distant horizon as the dark of the night began to give way to the tenuous hues that announced the impending dawn._

“ _Thanks for the tea.” the gunslinger said to the archer, the atmosphere was peaceful and silent still, but it was time for them to go on their separate ways._

“ _No need to thank me.” the archer stood up and walked towards the doorway only to be stopped by Jesse's voice._

“ _Out of curiosity,” the cowboy began, “where are you going?”_

_Hanzo turned around with a smirk on his face, “The shooting range.” he announced._

_McCree did not know what came over him but he had to ask, “Mind if I join you?”_

_The archer gave him a slight nod in response, “You are more than welcome to come along.”_

* * *

The warmth from the mug was enough to make the gunslinger feel more awake, but the memory of that early morning, made him smile for the first time in days. His heart felt somehow lighter and fluttered within his chest.

At the same moment, he began to cough.

The sensation of something obstructing his throat was what prompted it at first, or so he believed. The coughing episode went on until he felt something sliding between his lips. A bitter aftertaste followed it.

Jesse took the object in his hand, and stared at it in utter disbelief.

It was flower petal. And not any petal, it was in fact the same one he had seen in his dreams.

The gunslinger stood there, frozen. He blinked several times hoping he was having another nightmare, but soon he came to realize that what was happening, was _real_.

“No...” his voice was a barely above a whisper, “This ain't happening.” he wrapped his fingers around the petal and left the mug filled with tea over one of the counters, he had no idea where to go or how it was that he had gotten hanahaki now.

He had avoided it all of his life. _Why now?_

Not knowing where to go, he walked into the rain and wandered towards the same catwalk that he and Hanzo had sat upon so many times before. Somehow, he knew that the petal was for the archer, even if he was denying it internally. But also, he came to the realization that he had began coughing the flowers because his love was not reciprocated, and that unknowingly so, he had been falling in love with Hanzo gradually.

The rain had soaked him completely, but he refused to acknowledge the bone deep cold that had befallen upon him. Instead, his eyes were focused onto the blue petal in his hand. He had been such a fool for thinking that he had been coming down with a cold after so much rain had fallen.

“I can't tell him.” his voice was nearly drowned out by the loud noise that the raindrops produced as they fell upon the ground. This would be his secret, and he knew he could endure it until his lungs were filled to the brim with flowers.

Dawn found the gunslinger still perched upon the catwalks, the rain continued to fall mercilessly on that dreary morning.

He laid the single blue petal inside of the glass of bourbon that he always had beside his own, the one he always placed there for Hanzo, the flower was for the archer anyway and Jesse knew that if he was coughing up flowers then there was no hope for him, his love was one-sided.

In silence he accepted that hanahaki was going to be his undoing, and he accepted it gladly. Even if he was not loved in return. It was ironic that the petal itself belonged to a forget-me-not. “Ain't this a surprise...” the cowboy whispered.

One question that was repeated in his mind over and over was: _Why now?_

What had happened?

What changed?

The answer was simple: _everything._

Jesse simply laid there, he had fallen a sleep in the rain.

He remembers he began to talk to himself and closed his eyes, then suddenly sleep came over him. It could have been a couple of minutes or an eternity, and in the end it didn't really matter.

He woke up cold and alone still.

The two empty glasses were left as they were, being filled by rainwater instead of liquor. The torrential rain continued as he cradled the delicate flower petal in the palm of his hand, and he realized, as he laid eyes upon the darkened horizon, that he had never believed in happy endings anyway, so why would he even get one of his own?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for stopping by!  
> Have a good day and please take care.


	3. Doubts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! (I'm in a bit of a hurry here! sorry for the short note.)  
> Thanks for the support and I hope you enjoy the chapter.  
> Recommended song: _Say My Name by Within Temptation_

* * *

The time that took for Hanzo's convalescence to end was relatively short. The hanahaki disease treatments had made significant advances through the years and as such, three days after the surgery, the archer found himself returning to the small hotel room he had stayed at the first night upon his arrival to Japan.

He did not feel any different, there was something akin to peace in his mind, but at some given moments he wondered if whoever it was that he had forgotten deserved to know the truth. In fact, he had considered telling them more than once while he was staying in the hospital, but decided against it time after time. Hanahaki meant he was unloved and he accepted it, disposed of the flowers, and he is more than determined to move on.

He had to do so nonetheless, for life was always an ongoing march and staying in the past would mean to be attached to things one could not change anymore.

The archer sent a comm to Winston, confirming that he would be returning right away. After he was done, Hanzo walked around the room, rummaged through his possessions in case any spy or an enemy from the clan had found out he was in the country, he looked for any signs that someone could have touched anything, _'One can not be too careful.'_ his mind provided.

After having found his belongings as they had been before he had left, the elder Shimada took his bow out of the case and placed it on the bed, grabbed a change of clothing and took a quick shower.

The sense of normality he felt was rather strange. As if nothing was wrong in his life, as if he had not forgotten an entire person and everything he had lived alongside them.

He somehow, knew that whoever it had been, they must have been a very special individual for having wormed themselves into his heart, which was not an easy feat to be achieved, and he had loved them enough for him to have had flowers growing in his lungs because of them.

However, it felt as if he had not lost anything at all, but there was that feeling in his head and heart that reminded him he had lost _nothing_ and _everything_ at the same time.

There were emotions indeed, but since he had no idea as to why he felt as if there was an empty space within his heart and mind, Hanzo simply decided not to think too much about it. “If you have nothing, then you should want for nothing at all.” He said, as if by voicing the words out loud would make things better.

After all, out of sight, out of mind. Or so it goes the popular saying.

Hanzo walked out of the shower feeling refreshed, and began to once more rummage through his belongings. He felt as if he had to find certain object, but did not know what it was. He emptied the whole contents of the bag over the bed and found, nestled among the clothing and materials to make arrows, a short note that had been clearly written by him and referring to a journal he had brought along. It was supposed to be located at the very bottom of the bag, inside of a secret compartment.

After finding the aforementioned object, the archer held it between his hands for a long time, he knew not what was written among the pages, so he opened it without ceremony and found another folded piece of paper. It was yet another note for himself with a simple message: _'Read_ _everything_ _before you return to base.'_

Hanzo was somehow hesitant to even read anything related to the person who he had loved before the surgery, but he knew he had to do it nonetheless. If he had left a note, it was for a reason.

He had experienced love albeit unrequited and it was either die from it slowly or erase its existence. For him it had been enough to know that he had fallen in love at long last. It was akin to a miracle all on itself that he had been able to harbor such feelings even if they weren't corresponded. And after the procedure they had faded into nothingness.

_Forgotten._

All of the memories connected to it gone, except for the small journal he kept where he was unable to truly put feelings as they were, only his perception of them as he described a person that had been forgotten. One thing is to have your heart bursting with different emotions and another, is to merely put them on paper where not much can be transmitted at all. It was but a pale shadow of the real thing.

But it will have to do, for he had nothing else.

Hanzo's hands trembled a little as he opened the journal. He remembers having written those words but not about whom they had been about. It is as if a big blank spot now had settled within his mind, but he accepted it, because that was the result of getting rid of the flowers after all.

The note was short and straight to the point, his calligraphy had been evidently sloppy due to perhaps his haste to leave one last set of instructions to himself. 

* * *

> _If you are reading this it means that you have undergone the Hanahaki Disease treatment and that it was successful. As it is, I must inform you that the person you just forgotten is a man of great import who holds a heart of gold._
> 
> _He is... for he is alive still, just not in your memories anymore... He is very important and cherished by you and by becoming his friend once more, it will be almost as things were, simply without the unrequited feelings._
> 
> _Learn to be his friend again, for he could not have feelings of love towards you but that does not mean you could not be friends again. He deserves at least that much, for he should not suffer just because you were such a coward._
> 
> * * *

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The emptiness he felt was not something that should be there and for that he blamed his dragons. They both had been reminding him of the love he had lost because he had refused to talk. But what do they know about that? He could not say, he had hanahaki and he got rid of it. Shouldn't that be enough? He would get to live longer, the dragons should be pleased.

But instead, they were lashing out in anger at him.

There should be emptiness where the man he had forgotten once held a place in his heart, and oblivion should have taken those thoughts about a person he could remember no more away, but there were none of those. Instead, his spiritual guardians insisted on reminding him about a man he knew no longer.

He decided to ignore the dragons and eyed some pages of the journal, the entries were not in chronological order it seemed. Some pages contained random facts, and some of them had photos alongside them. Many of the pages had been filled with words written in a haste, seemingly as if he had taken notes as fast as possible in order to avoid forgetting any of the details. He opened the journal and settled on reading the first page.

_**Entry 1:** _

_His name is Jesse McCree._

There was a photo attached right underneath that first sentence. On it, a scruffy looking man was staring straight at the camera, a big smile on his lips. A crimson colored serape wrapped around his shoulders, one of his hands was holding a glass of bourbon while the other was touching the tip of his stetson.

Hanzo stared at the picture for a long time. He tried to memorize even the smallest detail, for he had a feeling that this man depicted on the picture could see through lies and any attempts at deception with ease. The archer saw in the eyes of the gunslinger, a sort of wisdom that only came with years of hardship, of having seen the worst that the world could offer and having lived through it. He could tell that this McCree knew very well how to navigate even the worst situations as if they were nothing but a slight inconvenience to him.

The elder Shimada blinked several times as he felt a tug in his heart, he touched the center of his chest, his fingers spreading over his sternum, and his eyebrows forming into a frown.

This was the man he had chosen to forget...

_Why?_

Other than the hanahaki, the other obvious answer was cowardice perhaps, he concluded. For that was what he had written in the journal. Now he wonders for how long had he pinned after McCree that his only escape had been the removal of the flowers and memories along with his feelings, instead of just telling the cowboy. It was too late for him to consider the consequences anyway, now he would just have to live with what he had done and make the best of this new situation.

Was he regretting the surgery?

Somehow, underneath the voice in his head telling him he had done the right thing, he felt as if he had failed.

After the archer had read the notes he had written underneath the photo, where it explained how Jesse had shared his whole name while they had both been on a mission in Oasis. The description about a deep wound that Hanzo had sustained on his torso, and that in order to distract the archer from losing consciousness, the cowboy began to tell him small pieces of information about himself, his whole name was the first thing, then the gunslinger joked about the bounty over his head.

The cowboy even mentioned his adventures as a young child in the farm he used to live at.

Hanzo laughed at the small note he had left on the right corner of the page, where it described how for a moment there, he had imagined the both of them playing among the hay in the barn pretending to be adventurers. The tale brought a smile to the archer's face and his words became a balm to his soul.

What followed, was written as if he had in fact not wanted to forget anything at all, his writing was barely a scrawl.

* * *

“ _I was happy there, you know,” the cowboy confessed. A distant look appeared on his face, as if his mind was lost in his memories. “but I wouldn't change it for what I have now.”_

“ _And what is that?” the question was forced through the archer's lips, a soft hiss followed afterwards. The pain was becoming overwhelming, and his vision was darkening on the edges, unconsciousness would soon follow._

“ _Now, I have everything.” there was no hesitation in the cowboy's voice. His gentle smile warmed the archer's heart and somehow he just knew that he had fallen a little in love with him. At the same time it was as of there was a tickling sensation in the back of Hanzo's throat, surely a result of the wounds and blood loss._

_What those words meant, he never found out._

* * *

Another note read:

> _He considers me a friend, but for me he was more than that. Besides, we are somewhat similar, we grew up surrounded by crime and being a prominent part of criminal organizations, we seek redemption and a new way for our lives._

The writing on that page ended there, Hanzo was confused and curious at the same time. He needed to learn more. He had written over and over that this man, had been important to him and a good friend of his, so the least he could do was to learn as much as possible before returning to base.

He lifted the journal and as he did so, a single discolored petal fell out from the pages. The semi-elongated and formerly yellow petal, a sad reminder of the flowers he had once grown in his lungs because of his unrequited feelings.

Curious, that he felt slightly saddened about things he had forgotten. He cradled the petal in his hands and wondered about the worth of what he had lost.

His thoughts took him to those days back at the clan, were any feelings had been strictly forbidden, and love was nothing more than a passing word that held no meaning whatsoever. He, for a short few minutes, regretted his choice, for he had forsaken his love and chosen to forget.

True, he would never regain all he had lost, but he could go on, and at least pretend that it didn't happen.

The dragons stirred within him telling him how impossible that could be, but he chose to ignore that in order to read another entry in the journal.

_**Entry 2:** _

_He prefers bourbon over scotch._

> _Today we were sitting over one of the catwalks and he shared that piece of information with me, it was..._

As the archer tried to go on reading, he received a comm, this time from ex-commander Morrison telling him that the transport should arrive to pick him up in about an hour.

He had to stop reading in order to get ready, and decided to try to gloss over as much of the information that could be found on the journal on his way back. He believed he could do it, but no one told him it would be so difficult with his dragons berating him every single time he opened the dammed journal.

“ _ **If you had not chosen to forget him, you would know that already, young master.”**_ one of the spirits told him in a mocking tone.

The other spirit took a more condescending tone with Hanzo when it was its turn to speak.

“ _ **If you had told him, things would be so much different.”**_

“How so?” the archer asked, he was already tired of this mockery, but the dragons remained silent after his question and so did he. The rest of the trip back home was quite uneventful.

And whatever awaited him in Gibraltar, he would face in due time, he only hoped to be ready for it.

* * *

Jesse found out about the archer's return by mere chance. The cowboy had been in the kitchen preparing himself a glass of lemon juice and honey, a remedy he had known of since he was a child, and had always used whenever he was afflicted by a sore throat.

Only that now, it was beyond that, and what was affecting him could not be healed by those meager remedies. Still, he found comfort in something as simple as honey and lemon, it evoked memories of better times for him.

He had overhead Morrison talking to Ana and after that, McCree found himself wandering back to his room while lost in thought.

Jesse continued to hide the petals coming out of his lungs, disguising his cough as a mere cold he had caught after falling asleep on the catwalks when it had been raining. Everyone bought the story for there was no reason for the cowboy to lie after all. Still, Jesse found himself coughing forget-me-not petals as he sat within the confines of his room after overhearing that conversation. Hanzo was returning and as the cowboy's heart had sped up and the feeling of hope filled his chest, the cough appeared once more, leaving him trembling as he stared at the handful of cheerful blue coloured petals he held in his hands. It was getting worse, and he was dreading to imagine what it would be like when the archer was to be standing in front of him or sitting by his side.

The words: “I don't want to forget him.” Had become a mantra for Jesse in the days after the appearance of the hanahaki disease within his lungs. He refused to let go of his feelings, he did not what to forget. Love hurts after all, and he knew he could take it, even if it would end up sending him to an early grave.

The gunslinger was torn between going to welcome the archer upon his arrival, or giving Hanzo some space to settle in after the mission. It was a known fact, that solo-missions tended to be more taxing and as such he deemed it wiser to give the elder Shimada some space. They would have time to talk over drinks later that day. Wouldn't they?

It was a small tradition they both had come up with. The two men would just sit down on the catwalks to talk about the mission, drink and make jokes, they did all of that in order to unwind. It made them both feel more grounded knowing they had something like this to go back to, and someone to share it with. Someone who understood.

* * *

The transport arrived almost as the same moment in which began to rain. Hanzo walked down the ramp in silence and made his way towards Winston's office. Everything seemed normal as he handed over the documents that contained the information about the newest addition to his medical file. Doctor Ziegler was called in and informed, she was also given the papers and left swiftly in order to add them to the file. But, before Angela departed, she notified the archer of the fact the he would have to visit the medical bay to corroborate that everything is in order first thing in the morning.

Hanzo went to his room and stayed there until hunger coaxed him into visiting the kitchens. It was not too late in the evening, dusk had been but an hour ago, but the kitchen was deserted anyway and that gave him a small semblance of peace.

It was not until he had finished his meal that he had heard footsteps. The archer took his dirty dishes and washed them hastily, in a attempt to avoid having to talk with anyone. But as fate would have it, he voice that greeted him was an unknown one.

Did they got a new addition to the team while he was away?

The archer turned around swiftly only to stop in his tracks, mouth slightly open as he had attempted to vocalize a short greeting. In front of him, the face he saw was that of the man in the journal. The one he had chosen to forget. The archer chastised himself internally, he should have expected to find him, but not this soon.

“Hello.” the archer said instead and hoped it would be enough. Nothing of what he had read so far indicated any sort of special ways to greet the man, such as embraces or handshakes, he assumed then that a simple greeting should do.

“Hey there, Hanzo.” Jesse greeted him enthusiastically. Broad smile on his lips, yet on the side he had to clench his fist in order to avoid giving in to yet another bout of coughing. The cowboy smiled and nodded at the archer, but somehow he saw something strange in Hanzo's eyes. As if the archer was just talking to him out of politeness, it reminded McCree of how it had been at first with their tentative friendship. There was something missing in Hanzo's stare, his eyes seemed devoid of something important but Jesse couldn't tell what exactly.

It hurt, for he knew not what had changed, but he would leave things be, after all, Jesse assumed that Hanzo was merely tired.

Both men stood in silence in the middle of the kitchen for a time that stretched into seemingly an eternity, before Jesse felt the overwhelming need to cough. His lungs felt as if they were burning and his throat was overflowing with flower petals. The cowboy excused himself as best he could and left.

Hanzo remained there unable to move and, not truly knowing what to do with himself. The dragons were chastising him once more, both spirits behaved as if they knew something he didn't. The elder Shimada all but ran back to his room to read the journal. He realized he was not ready yet, he had not read the notes in their entirety. And the encounter had stirred something within him.

Something was wrong, that much he could tell.

Within the confines of his room, Jesse coughed and coughed until he could no more. At the end of it, his chest was hurting and his mouth was filled with the bitter aftertaste of the flowers.

The gunslinger sat down near the window, handkerchief in one hand, and a glass of bourbon in the other. He closed his eyes and tried to remember every little detail of that encounter he just had with Hanzo, there had been recognition in the archer's eyes, but not the fondness he usually found in them, there was something missing and the mistrust the archer had featured on those first months after his joining to overwatch, had appeared anew.

As if he was trying to delude himself, McCree shook his head and muttered, “He must've tired, that's all.”

Knowing that after every mission, they would both usually visit their spot on the catwalks, Jesse decided to go there to wait for the archer. But Hanzo never arrived.

McCree waiter for hours, until the early evening had given way to the night proper, until the stars shone as the rain clouds dissipated and the moon was gracing the dark sky with its presence. The cowboy drank on his lonesome until his body felt numb, as the moonlight made the ocean seem similar to a silver mirror.

Jesse, drank and coughed a few more petals every time his thoughts gravitated towards the archer, but other than that, he did not move from where he was.

The gunslinger simply waited there, in the quiet of the night for something he once had but knew not when he had lost it, to return to him. But it seemed as if Jesse was not going to have it anymore.

But he would wait nonetheless, that was all he had left after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for stopping by, have a happy weekend!


	4. Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh by the Fates, I'm so sorry!
> 
> Life has been a disaster on my end. I'm dealing with my immigration papers going for a renewal for some documents, and that is taking a long time. Also I've been taking care of my nephew who is 4 months old and whom my piece of garbage of a brother decided to dump onto me and my sister as if we were nannies... (We know nothing of babies and at this rate I don't want to have children, ever!) Other than that my sister and I are treated here like glorified maids without payment, we cook, clean, do the dishes and all that, (graduate from college they said, you'll get a job right away they said! I'm here in unemployment limbo still...) so we barely have enough time as it it. Writing has been difficult, having so much in my head and so little time has made hard for me to write.
> 
> Now please, you may throw stones at me for being absent for so long, I feel awful because of it. Other than that, I never abandon a story, even if it takes a hundred years to complete it.
> 
> Phew, with all of that said, I thank you for all your kudos and comments. Thank you!

* * *

Hanzo paced within the confines of his room, holding onto the journal as if his life depended on it. He was reading one page after the other with haste and determination.

Where had he gone wrong?

What had been all that in the kitchen?

The cowboy had clearly expected something else other than the wry smile and bleak greeting he had gotten from the archer. McCree and Hanzo had clearly shared something special, a deep friendship to tell the truth, then why had he forgone telling him and took the coward's way instead?

Friends were supposed to trust each other, and as far as the archer had seen within the pages of the journal, he had trusted McCree enough as to actually be able to tell him something like this.

Admitting his love could have been a difficult thing to accomplish, but Hanzo for a moment considered that with the relationship they shared, they could have probably spoken about it and gotten over it, perhaps a bit changed by the end of it but with their friendship still intact.

But no... it was too late for that, and he knew it.

After going over the journal three times, he had found an entrance that mentioned the exact thing he had been looking for. How had he missed that one it was beyond him, but what the Shimada heir considered important was to have found it at last.

\---

_**Entry 12:** _

_We drink together after each mission by the catwalk. Either I await for him or the other way around. We share tales as well as drinks, occasionally we just sit there in a comfortable silence that is broken only by the crashing waves at the nearby cliff. After each mission I know he will wait for me there, even when it is late in the night or even if it is raining, he waits for me._

_The Fates know I just do the same as well._

_No matter how long it takes, I would wait forever for him._

\---

After reading the words that his past self had written, Hanzo's heart began to beat rapidly. Had Jesse been waiting for him all this time? The cowboy could be there by the catwalks waiting for his friend while Hanzo had been in his room unaware of it.

The archer eyed the far end of the small room, where an analog clock was hung on the wall. The hour was late, well past midnight. Hanzo blinked rapidly trying to dissipate the confusion that was threatening to overwhelm him.

Surely McCree would not be there still, Hanzo assumed and of course he could also be forgiven for missing their small meeting. He could apologize the very next day at breakfast and if necessary, he could blame it on jet-lag if possible.

The archer nodded silently as if agreeing with his own half-formed plan and walked into the bathroom, he would take a shower and try to get some sleep. The scene that welcomed him however made him stop all of the sudden. The mirror that was still broken caught his attention, as he stood in front of it, all he saw was a fragmented reflection that stared into the depths of his soul, feeling as if he had betrayed more than one person.

“In all of this, our decisions seal our fate.” he whispered those words, somehow remembering that he had heard them so long ago, when he he had been part of the Shimada clan still.

He made up his mind then and there, there was no point in delaying this, after what he had read in the journal he decided that the best course of action was to go to the place mentioned in those pages, he felt as if it was important that he did so. And if what he had written was to be trusted, then the cowboy could be waiting in there was well.

The corridors were empty and that made his walk towards the catwalks a simple one, there was not a single agent around to stop him in order to ask questions about where he was going or why he was carrying around an unopened bottle of sakè at such a late hour.

In his mind he went over possible excuses he could tell the cowboy, but none sounded concrete enough. There was not much he could say anyway, McCree was practically a stranger to him, his only knowledge about the gunslinger came from the journal, and there was a big a difference as that between the earth and the sky as to that of the person described in those pages and the one he would have to talk to and fight side by side in the coming months.

The archer came to a complete stop in front of the final door, the one that would give access to the catwalks. Hanzo closed his eyes and focused on the task at hand. One step at a time, he would apologize for his lateness, share a drink with McCree and perhaps even tell a tale or two.

He raised his free hand and opened the door, an apology ready on his lips, but Jesse was not there anymore, if he had ever been there at all. The archer's eyes searched the surrounding area but all he could find was an empty bottle of bourbon and two shot glasses near it. In one of the glasses there was a single blue petal and nothing else. He took the glass with the petal and stared at it, and as he did something tugged at his heart and in his mind there was the sensation that was somehow similar as to when one is trying to recall a distant memory.

He took the small delicate blue petal and laid it upon the palm of his hand, after analyzing it under the light that the moon provided, the archer concluded the he had not seen the type of flower that would have petals shaped in a similar manner as the one he was holding.

It somehow made him feel nostalgia and sadness, as if his heartstrings were coming undone. But he could not pinpoint why that was happening, he simply closed his fist over the fragile petal as careful as possible, somehow he felt as if it was important and he needed it to preserve it.

Hanzo had always wondered if a love turned into hatred could be able to cause the flowers in the lungs to wither and disappear, possibly freeing him from the curse of his unrequited love. “But I was too much of a cowards to try and do so.” he shook his head as the soothing sound of the waves crashing over the cliff helped him to find some ground. There was no use on berating himself, what is done is done and he knew so all too well. Making one's love turn into seething hatred may sound attainable but the archer had found it to be quite impossible.

At this point love turned to hate would do nothing for him. The flowers were gone from his lungs anyway.

The Shimada heir took a deep breath, the salty scent of the sea gave him comfort while his mind was in turmoil. He knew not when it happened, but he had sat down, opened the bottle of liquor he had brought with him and began to drink. His mind filled with confusion and his spiritual guardians muttering once more. The whispers of the dragons became louder as time went by.

Hanzo's thoughts were those of a man filled with the sort of longing that someone who had forgotten the person they loved should not have.

_'Can you miss someone that you have forgotten? Can your heart cling and hope for something that has been erased from our mind? Is it possible to ever regain what was once lost?'_ He wondered, yet those questions remained without an answer for the archer. He mulled over the thoughts and the emptiness within his mind, that longing he felt should not even be there and yet there it was, the beating of a heart that refused to let go of something that was neither his to begin with, a love that had only existed in his heart and not in Jesse's. He somehow felt as if he was running from something he should _not_ be escaping from.

After finishing his drink, the two empty glasses rested by his side, glimmering under the silver moonlight. The archer stood up but decided to leave the open bottle of sakè right beside the empty bourbon one. Somehow this simple act made him feel a heaviness in his heart, but he did not know the reason why. It hurt to have failed, he had let McCree down... even if he had no memory of the man, the cowboy in question did remember Hanzo and in his head it seemed wrong to try and build a friendship over something he had forgotten, no one can build a bridge without a foundation for it would fall into the water with ease. That analogy applied quite well to a friendship that had become practically one-sided in the blink of an eye.

McCree had his memories, he recalled all the times he had shared with Hanzo while the archer had nothing more than old tales and entries written in a journal that he would have to consult whenever he was trying to make a move in order to get closer to Jesse. He never had friends before, they were a luxury in the days when he was in the Clan, for you could not trust anyone and those that the Shimada heir had decided to trust had betrayed him later on.

But now it was different, he needed to make an effort, he felt that Jesse deserved as much.

Hanzo shook his head as he took one last look at the glistering sea. He could not repeat the same mistake twice, this had been only his first real test, and he had _failed_.

He vowed to do better nonetheless, for he had chosen this after all, he chose to forget and the consequences were all his. Because now, the problem was not that the love he felt for Jesse was gone, the problem was that things had changed and even if he had forgotten the love he had once felt for someone he never had, and unfortunately for Hanzo, that someone would still be nearby whether he wanted it or not. In the battlefield as well as in the base, there was no escape from McCree's presence.

The archer returned to his room in silence, the blue petal was still cradled in the palm of his hand and he decided to placed it between the pages of the journal, right beside the once bright yellow petal he had coughed up.

When Hanzo finally fell asleep, his dreams were filled with rain. A storm was coming and he was in the center of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and hopefully the next chapter will be done soon!  
> have a good day!


	5. Reflections and Parallels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am alive!  
> and well, these months have been hectic to say the least.  
> Well, enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think!

* * *

It felt as if the moment he was currently living through had been the result of a countdown throughout the week. The few encounters between Hanzo and Jesse seemed to have happened such a long time ago, that the archer felt as if they were blurred memories from a time long past. Everything was as if it has happened in slow-motion. The smoke and dust in the air filling the archer's lungs as McCree laid on the floor.

Hanzo's mind kept going back to the conversation he shared with the cowboy in the watchpoint, just mere hours before going to the mission, and Jesse getting wounded.

* * *

_It was breakfast time and the dining hall was bursting with activity, Reinhardt had been the one cooking that morning and everyone simply loved the sweet bread he baked specially for that time of day along with some hot cocoa. Needless to say that Hanzo's sweet tooth usually made him stand within the confines of the dining room right after the crusader began baking the bread._

_As the archer sat near a window with the leather bound journal in his hands, he heard footsteps nearing his table, he closed the journal with haste and pretended to be looking out towards the sea._

“ _Thought you were going to be feedlin'-footin' around Japan a while longer.” Jesse said, his throat felt raw but he continued talking anyway. “Glad to have you back.”_

_The archer nodded in response, “Thank you, it is good to be back.”_

“ _Drinks tonight? You can tell me about the mission.” somehow, McCree seemed reluctant to ask, as if by putting that question in the open he would be offending someone._

_The cowboy seemed weary. Of what? Hanzo could not tell._

“ _Of course.” the archer gave Jesse a small nod and soon after, silence followed. The two of them sat in quiet contemplation, the journal hidden under the table and Jesse's hands forming into fists as he was resisting the urge to cough._

_Bot of them were hiding secrets. Hanzo with lost memories and looking for answers to questions he was yet to ask, and Jesse holding a shattered heart and lungs that were filling up with flowers each day a little bit more. It was as if life was telling Hanzo that he never had Jesse and despite it all, he had lost him anyway._

_Things should be easy for two friends, but in fact, for the two of them nothing was simple. Not anymore._

_What they had shared before they had lost, and neither was aware of it._

* * *

Doctor Angela Ziegler had found out what was afflicting the gunslinger after Jesse had been brought into the infirmary, the report of the wounds that McCree had suffered held in one of her hands. She had been cursing inwardly as she walked, then realized that in fact she had interrupted the scene that had been unraveling in front of her after the automatic door had opened.

Hanzo had been there, if anything to make sure that the cowboy was all right, while Jesse's right hand was formed into a fist, as his prosthetic had to be removed. The cowboy was turning pale due to him resisting the urge to cough and Angela knew exactly why after she had examined him, and finding out the reason for his recent and nearly constant bouts of coughing.

After seeing the doctor arrive, the archer left after wishing Jesse a good night and offering a small and rather warm smile towards the cowboy and a curt nod towards Dr. Ziegler.

Jesse waited until the door closed after Hanzo and then pointed towards the trashcan which was brought towards the cowboy swiftly by Angela and he gave into he urge to cough. Jesse nearly filled the container to the brim with blue petals, and with a trembling hand he handed it over to the doctor and laid back in the bed, looking exhausted and pale.

“Why did you hide it Jesse?” Angela went straight to the point, “Are you aware of how dangerous your condition is?”

“Don't worry about lil' old me Angie. I'll be fine.” the cowboy gave a small shrug, he had been through worse, he could deal with this on his own. He _had to_.

Angela gave him a pointed look, of course she didn't believe him at all. “I need to be notified of these things Jesse, and you are a smoker, this makes it even worse your lungs have already suffered significant damage due to the cigar smoke.” her tone left no room for small excuses and her worry was more than evident.

He remained quiet, a weariness he did not know he carried within himself suddenly made his heart feel heavy. The sudden realization or perhaps the fact that he was finally accepting his situation made the cowboy feel so very lonely and hopeless. As if he was sitting in the middle of a dark labyrinth and he could not see a single glimpse of light, let alone navigate it in order to find the exit. He felt _lost_.

“Is agent Shimada, isn't it?” Ziegler's voice broke the silent atmosphere, her question sounded more akin to an affirmation.

The cowboy nodded, his lips set in a thin line, “I can't tell him.” he confessed as his hand trembled.

She gave him another look, but this one was filled with pity, for she knew that Hanzo had removed the flowers that had been ailing him, she was the one who had to add those facts to the archer's medical file after all. For a moment, Angela felt her eyes filling with tears, for this was the worst case scenario, she blinked them back and gave McCree a nod. “Jesse, if anything, you should know that...” the doctor stopped herself there.

“Know what?” The cowboy pressured, his face showing more evident signs of exhaustion.

Dr. Ziegler denied with her head, “Know that...that you are not alone.” she said instead of what she had meant, she knew telling him would cause him more undue pain. Besides she was bound by the doctor-patient confidentiality pact.

Still, Angela knew that she needed to so something. “Take some rest, call me if you require anything.”

With that the good doctor left the room in order to look for commander Morrison and Winston so that they could call in Genji. This was going to require a lot of effort on everyone's part.

It would seem strange that not knowing that his love, that was once corresponded is not anymore, that the reason for the petals, was as simple as it was complicated. but after Hanzo forgot about him the flowers came for Jesse. And Angela knew that, she was following the pattern and seemingly this is what had happened. Miscommunication or perhaps simple fear of rejection had pushed both Hanzo and Jesse towards their current predicament.

It was a sad thing to witness, for the affection that they held for one another had been evident before. Dormant in Jesse while it had been quite obvious in Hanzo's case that he felt for Jesse more than friendship, but now, all of that was gone. Dead and forgotten on one side while the other one was left wanting and wounded and unknowingly alone in more than one way.

After Angela left, McCree stared at the ceiling and wondering if he could go on faking his happiness while he felt as if he was a summer without sun. dreaming about he could not have, yearning for someone who loved him not.

He was not sure if he could ever be strong enough to go on pretending for such a long time and he prayed to any god that was listening that he was to die before having to choose between forgetting Hanzo or drowning in flowers, because if it came to that his choice was already made.

He merely wondered who would miss him after he was gone, and who would mourn for him. McCree was afraid of being forgotten by those he cared the most. Even though those people were few enough as they were.

Jesse wondered if Hanzo would miss him, and fell asleep thinking that perhaps all he felt was an illusion and as he always did as of late, he hoped to wake from this nightmare he was currently living in, for he did not know how long he could take on this one-sided love turned into a punishment.

* * *

After leaving the medical bay, Jesse found himself thinking over and over that maybe he was not strong enough to stay away from the archer, even if Hanzo's presence killed him little by little by making more flowers bloom within his lungs, he could _not_ stay away.

McCree was waiting for the archer to give him a sign that his feelings were reciprocated, that he was not alone in this; but he _knew_ his heart was reaching for something that was not there. What he did not know was that it had once existed, a love reciprocated had been latent within Hanzo's heart. A love so strong that had left the archer coughing up flowers. And Jesse had not been aware of that. Jesse was there, wondering and looking for something he could not find anymore.

Jesse had considered more than once not telling Hanzo, thinking that a mere friendship between the two of them would do.

But he knows it will not suffice. His greedy heart wants more than what it can have and refuses to accept that fact.

Knowing it so, a week later, Jesse ended inviting Hanzo to practice with him in the shooting range after having shared breakfast.

“Every gun makes its own tune.” The cowboy had said, “And yours in one tune I haven't heard in a while.”

Even when he was coughing a lot into his trusty red handkerchief, hiding the bright coloured petals in his pockets he enjoyed his time with Hanzo. It was almost too easy to fall into their old routine, even though the archer seemed weary still. Jesse dared not to ask what was wrong, he feared that by asking he would lose Hanzo even more and that made him wonder if he could survive that.

The only problem was that they had lost something, and not knowing what it was hurt more than he thought it would.

“ _I don't want to forget him.”_ had become a mantra for Jesse. He kept on repeating it over and over, he refused to think of the possibility of going through the removal of the flowers. He could not take the coward's way.


	6. Hidden Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> For this chapter I recommend reading along with these songs, (And having a box of tissues at handy if you can):
> 
> Trying Not To Love You by Nickelback  
> The Night We Met by Lord Huron  
> Durmiendo Con La Luna by Elefante  
> I Found by Amber Run
> 
> And thank you all for all the kudos and comments!   
> Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Within the confines of his room, Hanzo paced from one side to the other while the dragons spoke. The ancient spirits were once more chastising him as if he was nothing but a child, yet the archer was determined to ignore them. The journal had become an anchor for him, and as he began reading random facts about McCree, Hanzo found some semblance of comfort in those words he had written before his life had taken such a wrong turn, and it had all been by his own doing.

Head filled with turmoil and hands trembling slightly as he questioned and scrutinized every choice he had made up to that point; Hanzo knew he had planned for this, he had chosen carefully his actions, for he had wanted to confront all he would lose with knowledge but still, doubt coiled around his neck, as if it was a rope that threatened to to tighten up more and more as he continued to deny the truth of it all.

He had _failed_.

He had killed so many in his lifetime that perhaps eliminating the memories about his so called love should have been of no consequence, and yet here he was, holding onto the remnants of memories that were already gone and trying to find comfort on a love he lost. All of it destroyed by his own doing. Trying not to grow close to McCree was somehow making the archer... feel conflicted emotions.

“This is a ridiculous notion.” he hissed, “This should not be possible. What is forgotten, should remain as such.”

“ _ **And yet it is happening, young master.”**_ one of the dragon's could be heard saying.

This shouldn't have been difficult, any memories pertaining Jesse were _gone,_ all that Hanzo once knew about the gunslinger should be left in oblivion, to dwell in the shadows, gone along with the desert sunflowers. Could Hanzo be considered selfish for choosing to forget instead of drowning in in flower petals?

But each day that had passed since his return, the regret of the things he had left unsaid, and of the possibility of McCree finding out what he had done kept on eating him on the inside. He often thought about how much of a coward he had been, it haunted him often enough as it was. Of course that Hanzo tried to keep it together, and the facade seemed to have been working; except that he knew that sometimes it felt short, that facts he had read from his own past experiences were nothing compared to the real thing.... those little details about Jesse McCree written in pages that more often that not featured a smudge of ink due to one stray tear falling upon the paper while he had been writing on it, reading about it all made him _hurt_.

To read and discover everything about McCree once more, for these memories belonged to the part of Hanzo that he himself had chosen to get rid of. The small part in Hanzo's heart that was yet to die, the one little spark he held within himself that had reminded him that he was human still. That he was alive. That he had not become what the clan had wanted him to be, that he was capable of love, of seeing the good in others, of understanding.

That his heart was anything but an iron fortress, that he could cherish someone so much to the point where he would write about their life in a journal just to avoid forgetting them when he believed he would.

And he had given it all up, and for what?

So far, all the small things he had seen Jesse do and the moments they had shared over the days had been but a glimpse of what he had left behind. Both of them sitting at the dining hall at breakfast time, McCree sitting across from Hanzo, the cowboy bringing along a plate filled to the brim with the foods Hanzo preferred, and giving the elder Shimada the excuse that he was not so hungry anymore after just eating a small portion of the sweet bread and donuts, all of that he had read in the journal but to see the cowboy do it in real life, to see it unravel in front of his own eyes, was different.

It made his heart, his stubborn heart, beat a little faster.

McCree knew he liked sweet bread and went out of his way to bring an extra portion, the man knew at what time the archer preferred to train in the shooting range and often offered to accompany him. And they talked about everything and anything while they took aim at the bots and targets around them, and somehow Hanzo felt that with each word the cowboy said, something else went unsaid.

But it all hurt. For McCree, Hanzo had come to realize, he would have understood his plight. McCree would never have laughed in Hanzo's face after finding out about his feeling towards him. It was too late now and the archer realized that the apprehension he felt, that the coldness that spread inside of his chest every time he had to read the journal to see if he had somehow offended Jesse or perhaps forgotten something important, it was all getting to him. He was weary of this new reality he had found himself into. He had brought all this pain upon himself once more.

And that was the truth, somehow, a lost memory it was hurting him anew.

As if forgetting an entire person that his heart had yearned for a long time, was not enough. Now, as he tried to re-learn who McCree was, he seemed to be missing what could have been, even with his memories about the man completely gone. He often wondered how would McCree react if he would ever found out what Hanzo had done, and after knowing the man for barely a couple weeks, the archer concluded that he could not allow that to happen.

So he went on reading the journal over and over. McCree's photo haunted him, and those memories that for the archer were only on paper anymore, were more painful than any bullet wound he had ever received.

But, it dawned within Hanzo's mind that McCree remembered. The cowboy had those memories, albeit different in context, but they were there. All he had ever written in that journal, the cowboy had within his head.

And that scared Hanzo.

The archer took in a deep breath, he was nothing if not methodical and quite adaptive. But this was uncharted territory for him, and yet, he had decided that he could make this work, he _needed_ to make it work. Hanzo had made too many mistakes already and it was time for him to make a better effort. McCree had been wounded, and seeing the man on the floor bleeding out, made Hanzo's heart skip a beat in fear. He had wondered on that instant if after losing Jesse's memories he would also be losing him for real. As those memories resurfaced he held onto the journal as if it was a lifeline. After all, in those pages there was his only connection to a man he once loved, the remnants of a love that lived and died in secret.

He went on reading, opening the leather bound journal at random pages.

_**Entry 47:** _

_He does not like overly quiet places. A few moments of peace, yes. But places that are too quiet for comfort make him nervous. Specially during missions._

Hanzo found himself nodding along. Such short pieces of information were supposed to give him an entire vision of a man. Even though each of them was merely a glimpse, he was trying to reconstruct an entire jigsaw puzzle with more than half of the pieces missing. And still he went on reading.

_**Entry 82:** _

_He likes the sea. It makes him feel at peace._

Some of these things he had written, had a short tale attached to them, as if to give himself some sort of context as to what he was referring to in first place. Still, he began to grow tired as his vision began to swim and the words began to become a jumbled mess.

_**Entry 3:** _

_Prefers coffee over tea. But does not dislike tea._

_**Entry 25:** _

_Prefers spicy food and likes sweets._

The archer laughed at that, somehow they were both quite similar in so many aspects, that the fact that they had developed a friendship that later on turned into a one sided love did not seem as strange.

He could not understand why he chose to forget anything at all, Jesse was wonderful man with a heart of gold. Perhaps it had been cowardice and apprehension borne of his own self deprecation and search for redemption instead of forgiveness of his own self. The archer sighed at that, for it was true still.

_**Entry 67:** _

_Jesse favors the smell of rain._

On that same entry there's one of the flower petals that once grew within Hanzo's lungs attached to it. On the page it explained that one rainy day while they were just sitting there he was listening to Jesse and then suddenly his Hanahaki had first appeared. He describes how easy it had been to fall in love with McCree... even as he himself tried not to, and despite it all, he fell for the gunslinger. Hanzo didn't even notice how or when it happened, until it was too late and he was coughing up desert sunflower petals.

The archer caressed the page almost reverently, in there it was described the exact moment in which he had officially lost his heart to one Jesse McCree.

* * *

> _They had returned from a mission and decided to sit over by the catwalks right away, despite the rain and their exhaustion. They went there and drank in silence, until Jesse laughed about something that had happened in the midst of battle and the archer felt his throat constrict. For a moment it felt as if it was merely a small cough, until something came up and landed on the palm of his hand._
> 
> _There, Hanzo held a yellow elongated petal, and he immediately closed his hand over it before McCree would see it._
> 
> “ _You all right there?” the cowboy had asked. A worried look had appeared on his face._
> 
> _And the archer offered a nod in response, the bitter aftertaste of the flower lingering in his tongue still as his hands began to tremble, “I am fine, please do continue.”_
> 
> _After that the conversation was mostly carried by McCree, for Hanzo could not bring himself to utter more than a few words due to the turmoil within his own self._
> 
> _Around them, the rain continued to fall and they kept on drinking and Jesse told the archer a few tall tales of bar fights in Santa Fè and miraculous escapes in missions while he had been part of Blackwatch, all of it while flowers began to bloom within Hanzo's lungs, and McCree was none the wiser._
> 
> _And somehow, Hanzo accepted this new part of himself. A love that bloomed within him and that it could kill him, he offered a smile to Jesse before setting his eyes into the bleary horizon on that cold evening._
> 
> _He had crushed the yellow petal in his fist by the end of the night._

* * *

Reading about how it all began, made the archer feel a sense of longing that he was sure it should not be in there, right in his chest making his heart skip a beat.

He had heard so many people in recent years saying the same thing repeatedly, they spoke of love saying that life was a finite and fragile thing, to never take anything for granted, that one needed to say what they felt, never keep the feelings hidden. But Hanzo grew up hearing the opposite while he lived with the Shimada clan. Love had no place within the confines of the Shimada castle, feelings were just an inconvenience and any romantic attachments were seen as nothing more than a fire than needed to be smothered.

He once overheard a woman speaking to a friend in the park and her words somehow got engraved within his head, _“Everything but love is temporary.”_ she had said, _“Because love outlives us all in the end.”_ Hanzo had scoffed then, and he just did now as well.

He had killed his love, even after all that had happened, in the end he had transformed into what the clan had wanted him to become. Someone so callous and insensitive that in the face of it all destroyed any and all possibilities of getting attached to somebody. But was he any of that at all? He had taken a long time to finally reach the point of not telling anyone about the disease and chose to have the flowers removed only after he had lost all hope.

“I find myself swimming against a strong current.” his tired voice carried across the small room, “I feel tired and I know not if I should just give up.”

The dragons coiled within the archer's chest, he could feel their restlessness and could hear their berating voices echoing within his head.

“ _ **You gave up once already.”**_ one of the dragon's voices, this one was filled with disappointment, said to Hanzo. _**“You did not even try to fight, you just threw everything to the four winds and deserted your own heart.”**_

“And what should I have done instead?” the archer huffed, “Drown myself in flowers until I was unable to breathe no more? Go on pretending that none of that was happening, that all I felt, was nothing but a one-sided love that my heart refused to let go of?”

The dragons remained silent as Hanzo went on, harsh words filling the empty room as tears were about to fall from his eyes. “I know not what I lost, for I forgot it, and trying to piece it all together is driving me insane. And he...” the archer stopped for a moment and realized something that perhaps he had not even considered while he still had his lungs full of flowers, “He is lost to me now... all there is left of the times I shared with him are these pages filled with facts but no memory...”

The archer placed the journal on the end table near the window and closed his eyes, a single tear made its way down his face. “This... all of this,” he pointed at the journal once more, “is all that remains of not only the memories I shared with Jesse McCree, but also my own thoughts about him... and I may read it a thousand times and I will probably memorize it all, but it will _never be the same_ , for it is all gone. One may write about their memories but it is not the same to live through it all, to recall them that fondly, it is very different to just read them as if they were nothing but a recollection that belonged to someone else.”

“ _ **This is of your own doing, young master.”**_ the other spirits hissed, _**“You were more than aware of the consequences of it all, and you went through it it still. You lost it all by your own hand but never wondered about the after...”**_

“You think I do not know?” Hanzo all but screamed to the spirits, “I feel lost and more alone than I have ever felt before... but I do not want any help, nor would I ever ask for it. I have to deal with this on my own... I chose this, and I will live with it.”

“ _ **Young master,”**_ the dragons called in unison, _**“You can not escape fate, nor will you ever be able to.”**_

Hanzo ignored the spirits in favor of reaching for a bottle of sakè he had in one of his drawers and walked outside, with no clear destination in mind, yet as he drifted aimlessly around the base, he found himself once more standing over the catwalks. The empty bourbon bottle with the two shot glasses by its side was still there, as if they had been waiting for him.

And Hanzo sat down on his usual spot and allowed his sorrows and doubts to take over. He drank his liquor in silence while staring at the sea and wondered once again, how would his life could have been if he had spoken, if he had been given the opportunity. But perhaps he never truly realized that he had plenty of opportunities, he just never took them to act upon his feelings.

Perhaps he had been given the chance but never really saw it... never mind that it was too late for regrets anyway.

He recalled McCree's face on so many instances on the last two weeks, and now the man was in the medical bay due to the wounds he had attained. Still, the archer recalled the uncertainty of it all on those moments when he saw Jesse going down. Hanzo wanted to will everything away but he could not... he had tried once and all it did was make things even worse, trying not to become attached to Jesse McCree only made things more difficult.

He was in there between love and oblivion, between memories and the cold loneliness of their absence and with the understanding that he lost a precious gift, and that all that remained were the 'what ifs' and the doubts that plagued his mind.

* * *

Doctor Ziegler made her way across the entirety of the base and her first stop had been Jack Morrison's office. The place itself was mostly empty, just a couple of chairs, a desk and a small potted orchid with flower buds that were nearly pitch black in color.

She waited by the entrance until the former commander allowed her in, the door opened and Morrison received her with a gruff, “Angela, what brings you here?” he had apparently been reading a few mission reports when Ziegler had arrived.

The medic took in a deep breath, she did not really know how to board the subject but she had to do so anyway. “This is about McCree.”

The response was immediate as the soldier raised his head and stared at Angela, worry laced in his voice. “Did he got any worse?”

“No, no, nothing of that.” she reassured Morrison with a calm voice, “It's just... you need to talk to him, but I cannot tell you anything else without violating the doctor-patient confidentiality code.”

“What's this all about?” evidently Morrison was running out of patience, “If you can't tell me but need me to talk to him about it then...”

“He needs to listen to reason, and I know he will not heed my warnings, he never has. But perhaps he will listen to you.” the doctor explained, “All I can tell you is to talk to him as soon as you can, and maybe after that you will understand.”

She received a silent nod in response and with that Angela left the office, “I need the strongest coffee I can find.” she whispered as she made he way down the corridor and towards the kitchen area.

* * *

Jack Morrison had seen many things in his time, heard about so many things that at his current age nothing could truly surprise him anymore. But somehow what he had seen when he arrived to the medical bay area did surprise him.

McCree was in bed, seemingly feeling better and his wounds, all thanks to Angela's treatments, were almost completely healed. What Jack had not been ready for, was to see this man that he had seen grow from a loud, big mouthed young delinquent and into a fine strategist and fighter; coughing up flower petals.

The cowboy's lap was covered in different shades of tiny, blue flower petals.

“McCree...” the ex-commander made his way in and punched the code into the panel so that no one would see what was happening, that earned him a grateful nod from the cowboy.

“Hey Jack.” the fake cheerfulness could be heard in McCree's raspy voice and suddenly, Morrison began to connect the events that had been happening for nearly three to four weeks that had lead to the current scene that he had been witnessing.

Hanzo's surgery, no one truly knew what was for except for the leaders and Angela. Jack knew that the Shimada heir had Hanahaki disease, but not for whom the flowers had been, then the archer's sudden distancing form McCree. He could try all he wanted but it was difficult if not impossible to fool Jack Morrison. He had noticed that Hanzo's behavior towards Jesse had changed, at first it had been subtle but as of late it had been getting progressively worse.

And now this...

Somehow the soldier just knew who those flowers that Jesse was coughing up were for, and he remembered right then and there what he had told the archer before he left, that these plans usually backfired, and now Jack despised being right.

To make matters worse, Jesse and his smoking habits would make things even more difficult... this could not get any dire. His lungs would show less resistance to the flowers growing within, there was the possibility that the gunslinger could develop an infection that could potentially kill him in a matter of weeks instead of months if the flowers kept on spreading. No wonder Doctor Ziegler had been worried.

The soldier took off his visor and placed on a table nearby, no use having his face covered anyway, and began gathering the petals in silence, Jesse allowed it while avoiding eye contact with the former commander.

A few minutes later, after every single petal had been gathered and disposed of, Morrison placed the plastic chair that had been placed near the window as close to the bed as possible, sat down and sighed out loud. “Jesse,” he called, “son, talk to me. Let's get this sorted out.”

“There's nothing to sort out, old man.” Jesse then gave one big smile. Such a perfect illusion of happiness, but it was fooling no one, for the smile never reached McCree's eyes.

“This could kill you, Jesse.” the soldier put it out in the open, it made no sense to go on beating around the bush in matters such as those. Silence fell between them and the atmosphere turned heavy and uncomfortable.

“So? This ain't my first rodeo.” McCree gave the soldier a lopsided smile that even after all the time that had passed, and all the tribulations that Morrison's been through, it made Jack realize that he still saw McCree as the big mouthed kid that Gabriel had taken under his wing.

“If left to it's own devices, this disease _will_ kill you.” the soldier countered, “And you know that. And now tell me what do you plan to do about it soldier? You plan to just let it take you? Just like that?”

“Well, I'm not...” the cowboy sighed loudly. He did not want to admit to it but he needed help. Still, he was unwilling to forget Hanzo. He refused to let that happen, even after taking notice of How the archer was keeping to himself more than normal, their friendship was suffering and he did not know why.

Then it dawned on Jesse, that perhaps Hanzo had noticed the sided glances he gave him, how his eyes always seemed to follow the archer whenever he was in the room. But that was impossible, he made sure to be subtle, but maybe he had not been. He closed his eyes and denied with his head.

“I don't know what to do, Jack.” McCree whispered, finally admitting to it felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, but Jesse was more than aware that true relief was yet to find him. He then reached for a stray forget-me-not petal that had logged itself between the pillow and the mattress, he held the petal in the palm of is hand as if the blue little thing held all the answers... when in fact it was the main thing that had generated all the uncertainty and questions that plagued the gunslinger since its apparition.

“Neither do I,” the soldier told McCree, “but I'll help you in whatever way I can.”

Silence once more befell between the two of them, Morrison's worry was more than evident in the crease of his eyebrows and the way he tried to offer a reassuring smile that turned slowly into a grimace.

“I don't want to forget him.” Jesse had whispered, he did not what to do. He often wondered what would Hanzo even think about his all. Would the archer even care enough anymore? There had been this weird distance placed between the two of them, this invisible barrier that had befell upon their relationship ever since that day when Hanzo returned from that solo mission. The Shimada heir had been acting differently, and that worried Jesse. Not because of what that would mean for himself, but for Hanzo. What could have happened to the archer to have him change so suddenly and in such a short amount of time? “I need to find another way. But forgetting Hanzo is out of the question. He can be callous at times but he ain't heartless, if our places were inverted I'm sure he would say the same to you.”

Because McCree knew that Hanzo would never do that to him, Hanzo would never forget him, he was sure of it. So why should Jesse even consider that as a solution?

“All right.” Jack agreed, his gruff voice filled the room, but inside the former commander was crumbling. Finding the truth would destroy McCree. “You don't have to forget him.” Morrison then stood up, grabbed his visor and walked towards the door. “Get some rest, we'll talk more tomorrow.” this was a disaster, and he knew that both these men were in for more than heartbreak.

After Morrison left, McCree stared at the petal he still held in his hand and wondered if there was any hope left for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> Have a good day!


End file.
